Last Whims of the Angel
by Deep Color
Summary: An afterseries fic. OriyaMuraki drama after Ukyou's death.. The first time they meet after 6 long years.


I'm back with another fic… This one's a bit on the psychotic side.. hint hint You'll see why later. This was done in one day so I know a lot of stuff are…well, _off_ and simply _wrong_. Haha… you be the judge.

-Disclaimers apply.

**Is It Too Late Now? **

**Li Pei Fen**

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If you get lost, all you have to do is ask me…

…ask me…

The words slip out of my tongue like venomous blood on a cold pond of freshwater. If he had just meant what he had said that time…

Then what?

Then I wouldn't be so mad at him.

Mad?

The word's an understatement as it is. I look at the falling sakura and probe my mind for a better word. Angry, perhaps? No, not that…

Shut up. I should have said that a long time ago, I realize. Muraki, what would you have been doing without me? Don't you realize that I'm the only one you had all this time? Heh, well, the answer would be a 100 "no". Since childhood, Muraki, since childhood. I've been there. Didn't you see me? Look at our pictures… I was beside you.

And since childhood, I've been asking myself…

Would you stay beside me as well?

.--.

_flashback _

"Hey, stop it now, you're drinking too much," I try to snatch the wine glass away from his hands. "Muraki." He jerked his arm backward to protect the glass from me.

"Oriya, if I was to stop," he smiled, "how, then, would I be able to appreciate the beauty of New York?" he said with a smirk.

Hell, this was nowhere near New York. We're halfway around the world in France. Seeing me look so worried was probably the reason why he laughed. Looking out the window to stare at the moon he so loved, he said something inaudible. I could not even figure out if he was talking to the moon or to me.

I signaled to the waiter and as he approached, I fumbled for some Franc in my pocket. I put whatever I got on the table and saw that it was more than enough. The waiter was looking stupid, I could almost laugh. Probably he was wondering why two formally dressed men would not know how to pay a bill in a prestigious French restaurant. Nevertheless, hearing me say "Keep the change," was probably bribery enough, considering how much change I was supposed to be getting back.

I put my hands around both Muraki's shoulders and drew near to whisper gently to him, "Muraki, let's go home now."

The word 'home' made him turn to me, smiling. But it was faked, it was so obvious. "You don't understand, Oriya," oh no, he's starting again, if he says _that_, I'll kill him for sure. "I don't have a home anymore."

There. The bastard said it. I could not kill him, though. Maybe it was because I sympathize with him too much… or I was just too hurt to do something… _anything_.

I'm glad he was too weakened to resist me in making him stand up and leaving the restaurant with me. I checked my watch. It was 11:03 PM already, and according to my calculations, we were there for 3 long hours already. Oh, god knows how much Muraki has drunk, considering he consumed one wine bottle after another at incredible speed.

I don't blame him, though. If my Only Reason to Live were killed, I would probably do something worse than what he was doing now. But I just couldn't stand seeing him like this. So pathetic. God, Muraki, we've been away from Japan for three weeks now, please stop thinking about Ukyou.

Hey, you there. Don't blame me for being this worried. I know Muraki more than anyone else does. More than Ukyou. And even you, I know, can say that it's stupid for Muraki to be this affected by a death. After all, he kills… and there have been more losses in his life than any other man I know. He should be able to deal with it perfectly.

Come to think of it, though, you'd be stupid not to agree with me when I say he's the most cruel-fated man on the face of the earth. If you could name me someone who'd had more suffering than he, I'll kill myself. Now, try me.

As we enter my condominium unit, I undress him from his stiff, uncomfortable formal clothes and let him dress in normal sleepwear. His expression tells me that he is more comfortable this way and maybe I just imagined it, but it seemed that some of the lines on his face seemed to have disappeared.

It was wrong to have lent him a very white shirt, I thought blandly. Now, against the white sheets of my bed, he is hardly visible. Approaching the bed, I picked up the blanket and placed it over Muraki's neck gently. All this time, I noticed, he was staring at the moon.

"Why do you look at the moon like so?" I ask, as if expecting a sensible answer out of him.

"It doesn't hurt my eyes to look at it than to look at the sun, maybe. And it's glowing strangely… I don't think anyone has told me they have noticed its beauty. It's so beautiful… Can you see them, Oriya? There, they're walking around happily… See? They're smiling. Come, lay down like this and you will see them."

My eyes water with concern for him. Somewhere in a corner of my mind, I remember these words, though I have long since forced myself to forget them. In our youth, this all happened before… like déjà vu cruelly playing with my confused mind… Everything was perfectly the same.

"Oriya?" he turns his head slowly to look at me. I look down a little and pretend to look at something on my feet as to not let him see my watering eyes. I sit on the edge of the bed with my back turned to him and my head facing at where the moon should be. "Yes, it's beautiful," I say wholeheartedly, for in fact it is.

"It's a shame that people sleep at night… they would never know the real beauty of the moon." I'm surprised he has said something that had sense. For a drunken man, his aesthetic side was pretty extraordinary. Come to think of it, he _is_ extraordinary as a whole; from whatever angle you look at it. Having suffered so much, yet being able to live with it. And seeing his most beloved inside a coffin, murdered, and still not crying.

Not crying… 

I take back what I said. He's the stupidest man alive. I'm surprised that he's still alive, for I, who have been his best friend since forever, who has been with him always, has never seen him shed something more than one-hundredth of a cup of tears. And I wonder why I've never asked him to cry. Maybe I'm the one who's stupid.

Turning around, I see that his back is now turned to me and he is on his side. He is most likely asleep, I suppose. I lie down next to him and wrap my arms around his thin but firm body, gently, as to not disturb his sleep. I had always thought he would be cold, being white from head to toe. But he is not. He is a warm body, as I am too, and it feels good to be like this.

Paris is cold tonight, and even with the air-conditioning unit turned to minimum coldness, the hairs on my body stand up. But not anymore. To be close to a body physically resembling winter and snow feels so warm, like a usual summer night, considering it's autumn. It's all stupid.

"Oriya, have you seen it now?" his voice startles me for a while. The Prince of Deception that is Muraki has defeated me again.

"Tell me, what is it that you want me to see in the moon?"

He turns around to face me, and I don't let go of his body. "I want you to see it," he says. My eyebrows contract in perplexity of what he is trying to say. "So you can tell me how beautiful it is."

"What is it?"

"Look, what do you see?"

"I see… the moon and nothing else."

"How about the angels?"

"Angels?"

"Yes. Look, one of them is looking back at us. He's always there, I've seen him before. He's beautiful."

I close my eyes and breathe heavily. After all the air has left through my nostrils, I speak again. "Really?" I say gently. "Can you tell me… how he looks like?" My voice is shaking and so is my body. I hold him closer to me for comfort. The mere scent of him is intoxicating, and I find myself wanting him more…

His hand clutched a lock of my long, brown hair and played with it. "Okay… Maybe you'd recognize him if I told you how he looks like."

"…"

"His hair is dark as the bark of a sequoia and it reaches to his shoulders. His body is quite thin and he's tall for his age – probably as tall as I was when I was that age – around 14. The wings are white and wide; they're spread out as if they're an extension of his arms wanting to hold me… And his eyes…are as brown and deep as coffee beans… Do you see him now?"

I could not answer. Something stirs in me as if wanting to burst out, a medley of emotions… I could not distinguish one from the other.

"No? Hmm… That's strange, he's right there. I think you know him too, Oriya. He looks like he's someone from our school because he's wearing our uniform. And his smile is so familiar… There, he's beckoning me now… He looks… he looks like—" he momentarily stops stroking my hair.

He need not tell me, I know the answer already.

"—he looks like you."

For a martial artist, I don't have enough discipline, for I could not control mere tears… They're not even strong enough to be able to fight back, and I was not able to stop them from flooding my cheeks. It's disgusting.

"Why, Oriya, is something the matter?" he asks as he watches me closely. "I told you he was beautiful, didn't I? And he is. He's been watching me these 6 years when you were gone… maybe he's my guardian angel…"

That hurt. After 6 years of living separately, I had only seen him again at Ukyou's funeral 3 weeks ago. And it was all my fault. I let him go. He told me at the funeral that the last time he saw her was seven years ago, and he'd met her only now that she was dead. If only I had been with him, maybe he wouldn't have been so lonely. For six years, all by himself. The mad doctor would not have made it if it were more than six years, I can tell.

So all this time, he'd had a angel – the image of my younger self – as his companion. His childhood was more tragic than his present life, but he had me before to help him deal with everything.

Why, Muraki, did you not tell me that Ukyou wasn't with you when I wasn't as well? I'd have been more than willing to stay with you for the span of time that you needed me, even if that would amount to only ten minutes.

Then after her death, I brought him to France, hoping he could forget, and maybe, eventually, start to _heal_. I flinch at the thought that his sickness will take him away from me someday. But until that day…

...I guess, all I can do now to repay him… Is to love him to pieces until one of us dies first. And I hope it's him, so he'd never have to be alone again.

…Yes, I'll love him even if the doctors tell me it would not be safe to let him out of the asylum. Because crazy people don't know they are crazy, and crazy people are lonely, then, maybe…

We can just be lonely together.

Fin

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First off, I apologize for the title. I couldn't think of anything else.

I know that was a pretty bad attempt to match the drama of one of my fics, Shadows of the Moonbeam. Read that and tell me that I do seem to have a special attraction for the mysterious and weird, don't I? Haha.. :D Well, review, please! -Pei


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